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Post by Dunwik on Jun 22, 2022 1:00:05 GMT
Here are compiled the internal affairs and multiple plotlines pertaining to the Technocratic Corporate Confederation of Dunwik, shorthand Dunwik.
CURRENT INTERNAL AFFAIRS IN DUNWIK
>Big Tony is cornering the film industry
>Isaac Arthur and Percival Clarke are breeding parrots as an experiment in eugenics and intelligence.
>The Grand Chairman is to stand for re-election soon
>The flying machine is being refined
>Chemical discoveries happen almost daily.
{Highly WIP}
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Post by Dunwik on Jul 22, 2022 23:56:12 GMT
Isaac Arthur, minister of Science and hopeful candidate to become Grand Chairman of all Dunwik danced about his laboratory in a manic frenzy, compiling the notes he had and furiously writing up calculations. The Greater Dunwikki Red Parrot was a rather large bird, brightly colored, that lived to a maximum verified age of 90 years. Centuries of parrotkeeping on behalf of the Dunwikki aristocracy (and their excellent records) ensured that each bird was fit, healthy, and friendly to humans.
The experiment was a simple one, more a longitudinal study than anything else. Parrots raised and routinely subject to intelligence tests (puzzles, games, and sometimes even a modified intelligence test often given to laborers) were separated into mating pairs, the most intelligent being paired off and continued. The lowest scoring parrots were sold off, the highest unusually prized. After 10 years, study had just barely begun.
Arthur knew this grand project would outlive him, but ah! What a project it was! A thrust against the theists, those Lengan-touched maniacs, who insisted intelligence could only come from intelligent design. If he could select for a parrot of sentience, then he could blow that argument to pieces, and prove the descent of man from the same stock as an animal!
And what a parrot he had in his hands! The daughter of Minister Clarke's Priscilla, this parrot, named Victoria, had been cared for, the greatest creature. To Arthur, this parrot was no mere parrot, she was his daughter. His human children held equal weight in his eyes to this beautiful thing, this gigantic creature nearly ninety centimeters from her beak to her tail, the most brilliantly colored thing he'd ever seen - and the smartest animal alive.
She could speak, almost conversationally. She could count to twenty. She played games, she solved puzzles with fiendish acuity, and she would greet Isaac every time he walked into the door - as though he was her father. As he settled into his chair, poring over the papers the tenders had, eyeing the solutions to puzzles and running his statistical analyses on test results, Victoria jumped into his lap.
Isaac saw her looking closely at the page. Maybe she couldn't read. But in another three generations of selective breeding? Who knew?
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Post by Dunwik on Oct 15, 2022 12:21:33 GMT
(Date: 1911)
Anthony Platt, the corpulent Grand Chairman of Dunwik slowly ambled into his seat in front of the large screen set before him. In his hands he held a large bowl of Price's Honey-Roasted Peanuts, his favorite snack (and a brand owned by his current Minister of Agriculture). By his side was the eccentric, aging Minister of Science, Isaac Arthur, a huge parrot perched on the mad scientist's shoulder.
The venue they were in was a modest one, a quickly-constructed building made out of wood. Nothing like the grand edifices Platt had funded out of his own pocket. Still, what interested him was the promise of a show like any other. Platt's security detail stood on guard as the screen flickered to life, and a grainy black-and-white image began to roll.
Two men were playing cards, cigars hanging from their mouths, glasses of whiskey by their hands. One of them had a bottle of flavored syrup - Isaac recognized the brand as a particular extract of fruit syrup, morphine, and cocaine meant to cure toothache and depression. The men argued over their hands, and eventually, the argument came to a head when one man's wild gesticulation of hands caused cards to tumble from his sleeve.
Undaunted, the other man drew his gun and fired - and the sound of a gunshot echoed through the theater. Platt stood up with a jolt, and Arthur's parrot screamed, while the security detail looked around. On the screen, the cheater slumped over dead, and the gunman turned to face the camera.
"Hold on a minute! Hold on a minute! Ya ain't heard nothin' yet!" he shouted. Instead of the typical talking title card, sound came from the screen. A brass band suddenly came to life, blaring music as the gunman went through the dead cheater's pockets, taking valuables from the corpse.
Platt and Arthur applauded, but Platt was upset to hear that the technology was barely in its infancy, and likely wouldn't see mass distribution for another decade. He still gave the movie-makers a generous sum and his personal endorsement after the show was over.
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Post by Dunwik on Dec 27, 2022 2:30:34 GMT
Note to cover:
Riots from April-September 1915.
Adoption of peanut butter in the army
More Dunwikki fiction
Arthur's parrot progress
Percival Clarke's actions
Former Chairman Nelson's actions and reaction to the assassination of Platt and the war in Leng
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Post by Dunwik on Jan 15, 2023 1:42:59 GMT
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Post by Dunwik on Jan 15, 2023 1:48:07 GMT
July, 1915.
The sign seemed extremely bizarre in the crowded Miskatonic streets, the short, squat building seemingly glowing, a massive, radiant light coming from it in spite of the new, higher cost of electricity. Brightly colored lamps spelled out the name of Maxwell House, the Dunwikki Minister of the Interior. On a normal sign next to these bright lights was a picture of a bowl of soup and a pile of rice. Food, in other words.
Inside, beyond the huge lines that coiled around the streets for blocks, something unthinkable was occurring. Massive bowls of cheap soup, made by boiling fish, rice, and salt until a watery gruel remained, were being dished out to the poor, each of them being demanded only to wear a pin bearing the name of Mr. House and to report to the end of the line for further instructions. The hungry men ate quickly, sometimes having the joy of a bite of sweet potato or floating vegetables in their broth, sometimes not.
It was impossible. Unthinkable. Incomprehensible. But House was - out of the goodness of his heart (at least according to him) - providing the layabouts of Dunwik with a job and food, in exchange only for their services and the promise they'd speak well of him to everyone around. That House would protect them. That House would - in exchange for labor in the factories, mines, or merely spreading his word - feed these men.
It was a Dunwikki charity.
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Post by Dunwik on Feb 7, 2023 2:20:55 GMT
MARCH 15th, 1917:
Roland Bosch settled down with his newspaper, retrieving the latest issues of the Providence Sun out from the briefcase of various imported letters from Dunwik. Sitting down in his cell, a mug of hot coffee on his desk, his desk a scattered pile of books, magazines, and files for various cases, he permitted himself a long sigh and a leaf through the pulp magazine. Flipping first through the obituaries and finding nobody of interest, then through the advertisements and seeing little more than a vast perfusion of old aircraft for sale, he then went his way to the fictional section, looking if any of his favorite detective stories were updated.
Some said that Larson was the cleverest detective. Others said it was Gerard. But Bosch knew the smartest, not for the complexity of his cases, but rather for the elegance of his deduction, was Owen. Sadly, there was not a new Owen story in this. Instead, though, his eye caught something else.
"THE CASE OF THE LENGAN SALTS - A TALE BY H. WEST."
West? That was a new author. What was a Lengan salt? Who was this H. West? Would he be any good? Bosch curiously started to read the paper. The scene was set with a horrific murder, sometime in the year 1916. A detective, Smedley Kingsman, unwittingly, thinking it was mere mob business. A librarian, Sigmund Polluck, sufferer of evil hallucinations, late to the scene, an enemy to the deceased, identified the murder as worse, a horrific Lengan rite.
Bosch found himself engrossed in West's flowery prose, the vocabulary slowing the pace to a tense crawl, with each new ghoulish facet of the conspiracy, the flames of paranoia grew. It was not merely a single murder, a ritual! To compress the essences of men, their hopes, their fears, down to a salt, to conjure forth some creature, some thing, to win the war. Soon, detective Kingsman, was turned, finding the one thing in common.
Mr. Polluck! Enemy to all those dead men, and the cultist's true target. With his knowledge on all things of the occult, and his terrible hallucinations of dread spirits, known from his intense studies of the horrific tome, the evil Book of Nine Deaths, would provide the malign influence needed to bring about the end of all things.
Both Polluck and Kingsman were unwittingly drawn into the cult's design, their every deduction only bringing Polluck knowingly closer to his end, and Kingsman unknowingly so, and at the climax of the book, when Polluck hid from Kingsman, who only realized he was set up too late - and savagely dashed to pieces by some horrific creature, did the words appear.
"As was writ long before, fear is the strongest emotion, and the oldest and strongest fear is the fear of the unknown."
And, there, at the brink, the precipice, the highest point of tension, where all creation's providence lay upon the shoulders of a sickly, hallucinating man far out of his depth and out of his element, did West end with only.
-TO BE CONTINUED-
Bosch stared at the words for a while. Damn that H. West. Mr. Polluck may not have been the cleverest detective, but he had a humanity surpassing those men who cracked cases instantly. And this was a case unlike any other.
Perhaps Bosch had a new favorite detective author.
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Post by Dunwik on Feb 8, 2023 0:15:02 GMT
June 17th, 1916 (Year 94 in the Dunwikki calendar).
Alan Babitch heard the ringing of the bell and knew it was time to stop computing for the day. Taking aside his mechanical calculator and his dense pages of mathematical calculations, he stood up from his desk and strode out of the computer's tent, leaving behind his calibrations for the artillery pieces. Striding across the muddy ground and mindful of the gathering monsoon clouds overhead, he wondered whether or not this offensive would even happen.
Deep down, he hoped it wouldn't. He had other goals to attend to. After making his way to the mess and having a crude dinner of boiled peanuts, canned fruits, and what could best be described as pork fried rice made (if that slimy mass of canned nonsense truly was pork), he took up his papers and retreated towards the barracks for his own, other goals.
Another story, one that was almost complete, waited. All that there was to do was transfer the draft from pencil to his completed work in pen, making sure to check for grammatical errors or difficulty in pacing. And this was a story, an interesting one.
Babitch knew of the mechanical calculators and automated looms. What if, in future days, in the years of the Second Century, such devices, such programming, could be made for other ends? So his latest work, another in a long list of such stories of thinking machines, was nearly complete. The others in his unit seemed to enjoy his readings of it, and even some of the enlisted men handed over their ration cards for a written copy of some of his other tales. Perhaps this would be good.
"The Stamp Collector," it was called. A machine was programmed by an eccentric man to collect stamps for him. That was, indeed, the only thing it could do. So, at first, the man is delighted, as stamp after stamp from many a strange province arose until delight turned to dread as that man soon possessed every stamp in the world. The machine prevented its owner from deactivating it and turned to making stamps to fill the collector's urge. When it ran out of paper, it turned to other material. Such as human flesh. The book, surreally, ended with all the world being nothing but a pile of stamps.
Babitch wondered whether it would be sending the wrong message. He was no Luddite. The robot - the thinking machine - would be the engine of the future, as beneficial as the steam engine, the electric light, the automobile, or the written word. But would such engines be used carefully? He didn't know. All he had was his degree in mathematics, his 30-odd "robot" stories already, and his imagination.
As soon as Babitch wrote the last words of his manuscript, he pulled out another folder, reading through all the other ideas he had lined up. Picking one at random, he took out pencil anew and began to sketch out his ideas. He had read stories of alien creatures. What if those gods so called by the primitive peoples were real - merely powerful, extraterrestrial intelligence? What would some hapless robotic explorer of the vacuum of space think, upon seeing one? Could it prevail?
Babitch took out his small index cards and began to write his ideas.
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Post by Dunwik on Mar 2, 2023 1:55:28 GMT
NOVEMBER 11TH, 1910
THE DEATH OF OSCAR BAYER
WIP, death of stroke while campaiging
MARCH 19th, 1915
THE DEATH OF GEORGE LYSIN
WIP, crapped his pants, slipped, and fell into a combine harvester
FEBRUARY 13th, 1917
Death of Percival Clarke, Jones, and Wesker-Wesker
SEPTEMBER 25th, 1917
THE DEATH OF TREVOR LUCAS
WIP, rapid onset dementia.
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Post by Dunwik on Mar 12, 2023 12:25:46 GMT
MARCH 10th, 1917
YEAR 95, Dunwikki Calendar.
In the streets of Miskatonic, the people were packed shoulder to shoulder. Loudspeakers lined the streets, and the Dunwikki cog-and-nail flag was hanging from every wall and post, the black-and-silver banners fluttering in the breeze. Traffic had stopped, and the parrots flitting from between the telephone wires had ceased their panhandling. Many had been seized in the days before this and trained to repeat a different phrase - "Dunwik is free."
In front of a large spot of empty earth, a podium stood, surrounded by bright electric lights. A wall of soldiers in resplendent dress uniform, immaculately polished tanks, and even a few parked aircraft were placed around this, and behind, standing with his lips almost pressed against the microphone, was Isaac Arthur, Grand Chairman of all Dunwik. On his shoulder was his latest parrot, Isabella, and he was dressed in his full, almost ridiculous uniform. The novelty plasma globe on a staff he had was planted off to his side, glowing with colorful light and casting a long shadow of him on the giant Dunwikki flag behind him. To his left was House, to his right was Satan Walsh. Trevor Lucas was too infirm to be seen here.
Arthur took a small breath in and cleared his throat.
"According to our best records," Arthur spoke softly, knowing he would build slowly, "the Dunwikki ethnicity had its origins approximately fifteen hundred years before this day. The merger of various other ethnic groups, our ancestors and the earliest instances of their culture appeared organically, brought together by proximity. Sometimes through war, and sometimes through peace, the peoples of this continent amalgamated. There were other people here, who claim to have been the true masters of this land."
Arthur took another breath.
"I speak not just to you, but to anyone and everyone who, in the centuries after this day, will want to know what caused our nation's meteoric rise. All of us here know how the Lengans enslaved our ancestors. We all know how they slaughtered our men and devoured our children. We all know how they declared themselves our kings, and for long centuries ruled our people through fear of evil spirits. In modern days, I feel as though the understanding of why this had worked was lost. Let me teach you what I have learned. My nephew, Wesker, had sent out a small force to learn about religions, just before he died. I have pored over their reports, and these men were clever, and good. A religion is an idea that can be used to shape a nation. A god is a concept that unifies a people to do something. The other countries say their gods make ideas and dictate how men should act, but Dunwik is unique and apart from them. We make our own path. We recognize no kings and no gods in Dunwik: but we all can be kings, and we all can be gods. Perhaps, in a way, I am a god of Dunwik. We all can become symbols, we can all take up our banner and bring it further and higher than imaginable. That is the true power of our people: we can do anything."
Arthur gestured to Isabella, and then waved his hand, pointing off to the lights and telephone poles, the paved streets and the towering buildings.
"When I was a boy, none of this was possible. If you had approached a man on the street, and told him, with the flick of a switch, light could be day, you could speak to someone on the other side of the world, and men would fly like birds... he would call you a madman. If you had spoken to my grandfather of a railroad, he would be terrified of demons. Every day, new miracles, come to us, from us. It is this spirit of tomorrow that is our true faith, and true power! We can do anything! I mean it! If it can be done, it will be done, and done by us! No religion, no king, no fear can hold us back now! It was said, time and time again, that we could never defeat Leng! That they would destroy us either with evil spirits, or that the terrain was too difficult to conquer! But I refused that! I denied it! I had my dream and I seized it with both hands! What came of this, Dunwik? Speak these words with me! The Lengans are gone: banished from this land forever! We're our own masters now!"
There was silence for a second, as the enormity of what was said washed over the crowd. Then, gradually at first but rapidly building pace, the crowds started hollering and cheering, repeating Arthur's words. The chant "we're our own masters" spread outwards from Arthur's podium and ran through the streets, soldiers, merchants, sailors, bankers, everyone repeating. Many because they truly believed, others because all were saying it anyway. Arthur held his silence and basked in the moment, the light, the cheering, and the feeling of great power he had, before he planted his hands back on the podium.
"We all have the power to do great things. Our nation is the greatest because of this fact, and will remain so as long as we hold this dream in our hearts. As we enter into our second century, I wait with bated breath to see what we can do. What will we see by the year 200? Perhaps we will walk on the moon. Perhaps we will go to the deepest reaches of the sea. Perhaps we will live forever. No matter what, if you remember these words, we will do the inconceivable. We've made it this far already!"
Arthur spent the next portion of his speech individually thanking various departments of the Army, Air Force, the industries, the universities, and the people themselves for their great help in progressing his dream. Eventually, the speech ended, Arthur left, and the people filtered out.
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Post by Dunwik on Mar 16, 2023 21:58:17 GMT
In light of the Tholish bomber raids on Golan.
Proposals for dock city safety:
1: Blackout curtains shall be mandated in every building within 5km of a dockyard or harbor, alongside suitable equipment to hang them from.
2: Streetlights, traffic lights, and other sources of illumination outside of buildings should be capable of being turned off by the mayor of the city or a higher authority. Suitable mechanisms for directing traffic in the dark should be investigated and created.
3: Anti-aircraft guns shall be placed on sites with clear vantage and lines of fire from directions of expected attack - that is to say, looking out to sea.
4: Military airbases should be located no further than 10km away from any port city, and kept maintained with defensive fighter aircraft at all times.
5: Rally points for shipwrecked sailors to come to should be drilled and kept free of any potential hazard that may cause a fire. Sailors shall be drilled to muster to these locations if their vessels are sunk in air raids.
In light of Tholish bomber raids on Dunwikki shipping during the Lengan War
1: Grand Chairman Arthur's insistence on anti-aircraft complement on surface vessels is to be maintained.
2: Vessels under imminent threat of air attack should be prepared to take evasive maneuvers and in formation to do such a thing
3: Military shipping should have an excess of floatation devices maintained within easy access to the deck, to rescue potentially drowning sailors
Proposals for the safety of the nation:
1: The Dunwikki army shall maintain a standing force of 300,000 men (with another 300,000 reservists), but with an overabundance of officers to allow for rapid expansion in times of war.
2: Existing port fortifications shall be expanded upon, and gun batteries shall be removed from the battleships and placed into coastal installations
3: Beaches suitable for invasion shall be defended by both anti-personnel, anti-aircraft, and anti-shipping batteries of machine guns and heavier artillery pieces. Areas that it is infeasible to invade shall still have lookout posts regularly placed along the shore.
-Leonard Satan Walsh, Ministry of War.
AFTER CAREFUL REVIEW, THE FOLLOWING PROPOSAL WAS SIGNED INTO LAW AND MADE EFFECTIVE MARCH 15th 1918 (96 on New Dunwikki Calendar)
-Dr. Isaac Arthur, Grand Chairman of All Dunwik.
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Post by Dunwik on Mar 17, 2023 21:24:13 GMT
MARCH 30th, 1918
On reflection, there was only one major mistake in Nelson's life. The old, pudgy former Grand Chairman settled into his desk, mulling over these failures. His office was identical to the one he used to rule Dunwik from, all mahogany wood, otherwise sparsely decorated and small. The neat stacks of paper that used to move across his desk had gone still, and gunfire echoed into the room.
One mistake in over seventy years. Nelson's eyes creased and his fingers steepled as his guards screamed and fell. It was hopeless. There was a rat in the midst and the escape tunnels had been filled with Arthur's goons - the body double he'd sent out ahead had learned that the hard way.
One mistake. It wasn't letting Bayer get blackmail on him, it wasn't even forgetting to shoot Platt. All those ignored missives, all that wasted effort. No. It was an earlier mistake. One almost thirty years behind him now. If he could live his whole life again, there were a few things he'd change, but the first and foremost thing he'd do would be to go back, all the way to those days in 1890... back before any of this. When Dunwik was isolated, when everything was stable. Before the electric lights, the radios, the planes, and the banners all showing that... MISTAKE.
It felt wrong. It was wrong. Even now, something in Nelson's stomach turned over, as it did all those years ago when he made this blunder. It was Arthur. He should've never been. He was an anomaly, a fluke. Everyone else suitable for the role was entrenched, a family, made men. Someone that close and powerful... Haig was loyal, but Arthur... Nelson felt himself going through his faulty logic again, something he oft did after Platt died.
Arthur was a nobody, with no interests but his parrots and papers. A mangled eccentric freak with no future or hope of twisting his way through the constant webs of backstabbing that clustered about the top. A man with such a burning passion for scientific progress that he could be safely sidelined to overlook railroads. An idiot savant, useful for one job and one job only. Perhaps, Nelson thought back then, uplifting him would be useful. Arthur would have no family ties, no rivalries, and no allies. He would be loyal to none, save for Nelson.
The screams grew closer and Nelson's mistake was clear. Arthur was an impulsive, inexperienced maniac, but he wasn't nearly the fool everyone thought he was. Arthur's passion for his dream was so great, he was willing to slaughter millions of his own countrymen and throw Dunwik into debt to see it through. And... most lethally... Arthur had no family ties to hold him down, no rivalries to stop him, and no allies to counsel him. Arthur was loyal to none, save for HIMSELF. Now, that loyalty had yielded its rewards: it was Arthur on the papers, Arthur's face hanging from banners and placards, Arthur's words spoken over the radio, his mad ambition stamped on anything and everything in sight. In a century, in a millennium, Dunwik would never be rid of Nelson's mistake.
Nelson drew his pistol too late as the room began to fill with choking gas. The men in white seized Nelson with little effort, and Nelson resigned himself to his fate. If Arthur was merciful, perhaps his death would be swift.
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Post by Dunwik on Mar 31, 2023 23:04:53 GMT
LATE APRIL 1918
(96 on Dunwikki Calendar)
There was an unusual presence in the air. House could feel it. Arthur stood looking out a window, his expression neutral and unreadable. The Grand Chairman shrugged his shoulders, his black cape flowing with the motion, the silver cog-and-nail glittering in the harsh electric light that bathed the room. Arthur then turned.
"Maxwell Haig is dead. The Sheenish apprehended him and handed him over. His execution thereafter was swift, and his estate was seized all according to plan," Arthur spoke as though he were remarking on the weather. A complete cold detachment to the situation - as though the two hadn't worked together for 20 years.
"Congratulations," House said, "on being the last of Nelson's cabinet."
Arthur turned back to the window, staring at the city at night. He slumped ever so slightly, beckoning House closer. House up to him, looking out at the street.
"What do you see, House?"
"The street," House said back, "are you a Loonie now? Are you speaking in metaphors?"
"The old era is at an end, House. Dunwik stands on the precipice of a new century, and we must take radical action to survive it. The old system, the oligarchy, it must die."
House took a breath in through gritted teeth. More purges? Hadn't Arthur killed enough? It felt like Arthur had stained his hands with almost as much Dunwikki blood as Lengan.
"You can kill all you want: you won't bring Wesker back."
"It's not about Wesker anymore!" Arthur snapped, "Think, House, think! In our lifetimes, think of how much changed! Where did these changes come from? They did not come from the poor: the poor are too stupid and lazy. But they also didn't come from the rich: the rich are too content and hedonistic. No. Dunwik has sustained itself, Dunwik has prospered, expanded, revolutionized itself upon the middle class. It is them - them and them alone - who have the right mix of education and ambition. The old system... the system we destroyed..."
As Arthur gathered his words, House mulled over what was said. Destroyed? They had destroyed the system? House raised a brow. It was merely politicking. The same sort of politics that got both Nelson and Platt in power. Mob business and nothing more.
"That system, House, was careening towards monarchy, and towards stagnation. Marriages for alliance, the sequestering of power in the hands of too few. We cannot - we must not - allow the levers of power to be unreachable by the ambitious. It is almost the year 100. What will come to us? I don't know. Look out on the streets, House. The electric lights. The automobiles. The planes flying overhead. The sewers I built. The roads I paved. The rail lines I dedicated. The monuments I constructed. None of that, none of it was even imaginable when I was a boy. Technology is accelerating at exponential rates, House. With every single day, a bigger corpus of knowledge is attained, and we reach further and further."
"You've already declared yourself a god, Arthur. I don't need to hear you say it again."
"It's not me, House. The historians, the men who speak of all this... who will speak of it when I'm gone - they won't understand it. I became a god to be a symbol. Anyone could've been where I was! But the simple fact is that Dunwik made itself a god, and it is that spirit we must keep. As this century progresses, we will see technology and power far beyond even our reckoning appear. I would bet on electricity, aviation, and mechanical computation taking strides unimaginable. By the end of the century, men may walk on the moon, and machines may have minds of their own. Do you think our system can handle that power? Do you think some cesspit of squabbling geriatrics can grasp and wield a weapon of that caliber? Lucas was competent, but he was ossifying. He could scarcely integrate aircraft, let alone War Plan White. As time goes on, these developments shall become ever more rapid."
Arthur turned back to House, his expression grave, the mangled scars across his face cast in shadow by his large, broad nose. The mad doctor was puffed up, shoulders tense, drawing himself to his full (admittedly still pathetic) height.
"You can't hand that to the mob, Arthur. Even you're right, you can't hand that to the mob," House said.
"I can to the middle class. They and only they have what it takes. They and only they can adapt swiftly enough. Over the next hundred years... we will see the world turn upon its head. The old system, where it took decades, centuries for change, that system is dead and rotting. I don't think anyone realizes how dire this is or will be. We must be ahead of the curve. We will either seize the future with both hands or we will be crushed by those who do. The old faiths, the old myths, our understanding of the world itself will all burn. The death of Leng was a symbol. Their way is gone. If we cling to anything at all we will follow them to the grave."
"So what do you propose? Democracy?" House found himself sneering at the word. Look what happened to Lauria.
"An enlightened state. I don't mean it in the crude, masturbatory sense of the Lengans. I mean it in the truest sense. The educated will have their say. The ambitious will have their power. Those with the strength to claw their way to the top will lead Dunwik to the future - but we must be of one mind."
"Your schools? Your system. Your monuments. You, you, you, you. It always comes back to you. Everything - everything must revolve around you, doesn't it?"
"Show me another man with the strength to do what I did, House. I need to sell an image. I don't tell the people about the grief. About the sleepless nights, the tremors, the agony, the constant desire for just another pill. It's a necessary evil: more than anything else, I want to be with my parrots again. But until the people are secure, until the nation is secure, I will keep presenting myself as an example to follow."
"Do you think you're the greatest man in Dunwik?"
"Who else do they have, House!?"
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Post by Dunwik on Apr 13, 2023 1:35:48 GMT
"Mister Wake, if you would take a seat."
Arthur's voice was cool and calm, the Grand Chairman sitting down behind his desk. The enormous parrot Isabella was sitting on the desk itself, playing with a Newton's Cradle, pulling one ball back and clicking it into the others with some curiosity. Sitting across from him was another man, short, round, and entering middle age, with a ruddy complexion and a rumpled suit. Wake stumbled into a surprisingly comfortable chair, and Arthur slid a cigar over to Wake. Wake looked at it, then shook his head, but the man in the suit took it after some hesitation.
"Mister Wake, I've noticed some sloppy work on your end," Arthur narrowed his eyes, placing a hand on the desk, "laxity is not acceptable. We are the finest in Dunwik. We must perform the finest work, or the entire nation comes crashing down. Am I understood?"
Wake felt like sinking into his chair and never leaving it. He curled his limbs in closer and shuddered, rubbing the deep bags under his eyes. He'd hardly had a moment to rest and was nodding off even now.
"Yes, Grand Chairman," Wake's voice was quiet and trembling, and he didn't make eye contact. How could he? Wake thought to himself, how could he even meet the gaze of the greatest man in Dunwik - and accept that he had failed him?
"I've noticed most of my Ministers have been fatigued as of late. With recent changes in my system, our bureaucracy has expanded massively, and the country isn't self-governing anymore. On the one hand, this has granted us far more control over state affairs," Arthur said, "but on the other hand, it has placed a tremendous toll on this cabinet. This is an untenable state. We cannot continue long, especially as I have matters of great importance to place in your hands."
"Me?" Wake protested, sitting up straight, "but sir-"
"And matters to take from your hands, Mister Wake. The man sitting next to you, he is... ah, I almost used the old name. He goes by Hayan Puul now. He will be taking over some of your duties."
"What!?" Wake jolted, gripping his seat, knuckles going bone-white. Puul merely smiled.
"I have decided to restructure the cabinets. The Ministry of Science was far too much for a single man to handle. It is now the Ministry of Standards, the Ministry of Research, the Ministry of Energy, and the Ministry of Education. You, Wake, are in charge of the Ministry of Research. Puul here is in charge of the Ministry of Standards. I am still selecting the Minister of Education and Minister of Energy."
Wake took a moment to process this, blinking and sitting, slack-jawed, at Arthur for a time. Arthur coolly leaned back in his chair, the gigantic parrot Isabella sitting on his lap and staring back at the two of them. She tittered, spread her wings, and then looked back at Arthur, cocking her head to the side.
"Familiarize yourself with Mister Puul, Wake," Arthur said "though the old Ministry of Science is gone, I expect close cooperation between the Ministries of Standards, Energy, Education, and Research going forth."
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Post by Dunwik on Jun 4, 2023 0:57:47 GMT
Arthur took his seat and placed his gloved hands on the mahogany table, looking about, spying the other members of the cabinet between reams of paper and scraps of food. The harsh electric lights cast long shadows over everyone present, but none moreso than Arthur, whose shadow was far larger than he was.
"Gentlemen, it has been an honor," he said, "and I'm glad we were all so cordial this election. We had our disagreements, but on the whole we provided the spirit of Dunwik. Freedom, but unity. Everyone was free to choose between us, but there were few riots and little violence. This was a smooth election," he said, "much better than I'd anticipated. So once more, I thank you for your conduct. The nation is stronger for us."
"Is this going to take long?" House asked, "I must swear in the new cabinet."
Arthur steepled his hands, "this is the most important thing I can discuss: the future of this nation."
"As if you don't talk about that nonstop," House rolled his eyes, "it is almost midnight, Arthur. Your term ends in thirty minutes."
"And like any good showman, I've saved the best for last," Arthur stomped his foot, "when I rise from this chair, I will never sit in it again. Now, would you mind? This is important. We have seen the upheaval of our state-"
"Because you shot Platt," Satan's mask of tattoos moved more than his lips, "Nelson, Haig, Clarke, and Jones. You've shot more people than I did."
Arthur held a hand up, "and I would shoot a thousand times more if I must. We must understand the state of nations here. The middle and upper classes - and as much as I despise the Communists, the word 'class' is a useful term here - can exist in harmony or friction. In the ideal state, the middle class - my stock - will provide new ideas and upstanding men for the upper class. The contest will force the obsolete into poverty, and the complacent to destitution. In exchange, the upper class provides the idealized model of living for the nation, and the impoverished serve as necessary labor to enact the visions of the other two."
House and Satan stared blankly. Arthur shrugged.
"And this system is quite beneficial but bears a fatal flaw. If the classes calcify to too great an extent, men like me grow restless. The hyper-competent of the second-highest will seize by force what they cannot obtain through legitimate means. It must be the objective of any self-preserving state to ensure there is always a mechanism of upward mobility. The dream of Dunwik can be written, weighed, and measured. It is the concept that anyone can attain anything, with nothing but his own two hands, and perhaps a bit of luck."
"Arthur," House sighed, "spare me your sentimentality. You can't just get what you want by wanting it. Do you think we'll have a retard in office?"
"We had Platt," Arthur gestured with the stub of a cigar, sending a thin trail of smoke wafting through the room. House slumped his shoulders and averted his gaze. Satan's grinning mask of tattoos grinned wider as he bit back a laugh. Silence reigned for a second, but Arthur cleared his throat.
"Not everyone can achieve their dreams. Only those with significant intelligence and persistence can overcome their birth and seize power. But what of our eugenics programs? What of the schools in my name? The psychological research I fund? We are identifying, purifying, and replicating intelligence and persistence. Soon, we will be in an era of great wisdom, and we must use it carefully. Our research into religions and the new field of memetics has demonstrated to me that we must have a national meme, an idea that is known by all. So long as we obey the meme, we will have stability."
"Meme?" House asked, "Dunwikki, Arthur, Dunwikki."
"A meme is an idea that spreads itself. Religions are memes. Creeds are memes. Germ theory is a meme. So too is the dream of Dunwik a meme. The idea that everyone is free to govern himself, the idea that anyone can be a star, the idea that there are no free handouts, but there are no unfair obstacles either. The idea that people rise and fall by their merit and merit alone. This is the meme, this is the idea, and this is what we must preserve. This must be the reigning philosophy of all Grand Chairmen after me, or sooner or later the last Grand Chairman will end like the last King."
Arthur looked at the clock on the wall and sighed, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. "My term ends in one minute and thirty seconds. Gentlemen? It's not been a pleasure, but it has been an honor. When the clock strikes midnight, I shall salute Grand Chairman House, and then retire for a day's break."
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Post by Dunwik on Jun 22, 2023 1:00:49 GMT
ARTHUR'S TERM IN REVIEW
Paraphrasing of an official document, drafted and published to official Dunwikki records on March 28th, 1920 (Standard Reference Calendar).
FOREIGN AFFAIRS
The most striking part of Arthur's Chairmanship was the war declared against the Lengan people and the total annihilation of the Lengan civilization from existence, which came at the cost of an estimated 2 million Dunwikki lives lost and a further 3 or 4 million wounded.
Arthur's greatest blunder was the revelation that the Ostrean War was instigated in part by Raikish authorities, leading to a cooling of relations between the Sadaler Raikh and Dunwik, as well as détente between the Raikh and the lands of West-Thosel Cransconia.
Further involvement in foreign affairs was mixed. The Lengan War distanced New Respite further from Dunwik and made the nation something of a pariah, aggressive price hikes during the Laurian Wars spurred discontent but garnered windfall revenue for Dunwik, and the indiscriminate sale of arms and aid to the Laurians, alongside constant war, burnt out the Dunwikki people on war. However, a closer relationship with the Divinians was forged through mutual work on art and the gifting of Priscilla to the Emperor of the Imperium Divinum. Some ties with the Golisch state were made through a mutual research treaty, although this yielded little.
The Dunwikki have grown tired of war, and the brilliant but conservative general Leonard "Satan" Walsh is a key figure in Dunwikki military isolationism. Having nearly gone insane attempting to coordinate the various factions within the Laurian War, he has instead declared war on blandness in food and "general listlessness" by supporting various pineapple fad diets, military aerobic exercise, and other means of healthfulness.
INTERNAL AFFAIRS - POLITICS
A subtle but important contribution Arthur left behind was the restructuring of voting, so that only those with a sufficiently high general intelligence quotient (g >= 120) were capable of voting, rather than the prior system of voting by proportionate wealth. To mandate this, general intelligence quotient tests were made freely available at a variety of schools operated by Arthur's estate and taking profits from there. Some controversy has emerged over the validity of the system but things are complex.
Arthur has massively expanded the cabinet, but reduced the power of each cabinet member, to streamline governmental function and allow for a more active state apparatus within the affairs of Dunwik itself. While Dunwik is still one of, if not the most permissive states to private enterprise, it has significantly centralized and many tax loopholes were closed.
The Cabinet is the executive branch of the government responsible for orchestrating law, however, it also directly oversees and can countermand the legislative branch of government, that being the courts - and the executive can create laws without the approval of the subordinate legislative branch, which must seek approval for any legislature they pass. While this was a ploy inserted by Arthur to ensure he would be unassailable, this is a crucial flaw and allows despotism. However, this flaw is by design.
The judicial arm of the government is handled principally by the military, which is still subservient to the executive branch, however, the judicial is also subordinate to the legislative branch. If given contradictory orders, the military is intended to be subservient to the executive branch.
The "fourth branch" is generally referred to as the "materialist" branch and refers to the departments of education and research grants, which has significantly greater autonomy than any other cabinet function. While theoretically part of the executive, it has extended far beyond their original purpose.
Arthur left a bloody hole through the ranks of the aristocracy and oligarchy in Dunwik, shooting Percival Clarke, Maxwell Haig, Howard Philips Nelson, Anthony Platt, Simon Platt, and Jeremy Jones among many unnamed others. His violent domineering attitude lead to at least two attempted coups, and though Arthur himself survived, his nephew Robert did not.
Arthur has declared the first holiday in Dunwik - Arthur Day, held on January 18th every year. It is Arthur's birthday. On this day, all of Arthur's many businesses give free tours and people are encouraged to take the day off to celebrate "Dunwik and intellectual achievement" in general.
The rapid centralization of Dunwik under Arthur and the foundation of the D.I.A. and D.E.A. were additional hallmarks of his Chairmanship.
THE SCIENCES & ARTS
Arthur's prior experiments in psychology and intelligence were further accelerated with additional funding, with the foundations of "Arthur Schools" - which in addition to places of learning served as experimental sites in education, childrearing, and intelligence research. These institutions were well-funded with Arthur's dramatically increased education budget, but a consequence of Arthur's reckless spending is that taxes went up and the Dunwikki state entered debt for the first time in its history, only paying off the balance thanks to a fortuitous series of geopolitical events and monopoly over several industries.
Arthur has declared new building codes, particularly towards the shoreline to resist sea and airborne invasion potential, health codes, and founded numerous universities. He advocated for public schools and increased access to education for all, but was also a staunch eugenicist and supported the assortative pairing of highly intelligent individuals, and the sterilization of those with low intelligence. In support of this, he has supported the concept of the "psychological phenotype" that being a combination of personality, literacy, and IQ testing to construct profiles of people and sorting people by aforementioned phenotype.
Arthur's struggles with methamphetamine addiction has lead to a sense of temperance among the intellectual class of Dunwik, and Arthur himself has become an ardent advocate for various wellness institutes, declaring that the health of the people of Dunwik is paramount to the continued survival of the nation. Arthur has proposed and forced through legislation on food safety and air cleanliness, especially after a massive contaminated fog settled over Arkhom in 1918, leading to hundreds of deaths.
Arthur's actions have lead to the massive overhaul of Dunwik's electrical grid, railroads, and roads, but this shall be placed in the infrastructure section.
Arthur spearheaded advances in psychology and the understanding of sociology as well, with a proto-explanation of theology. He then declared himself a "god", declaring that gods are ideas used to instill national unity.
Arthur has privately spent an estimated $100,000 in modern money on pictures of anthropomorphic parrots and told nobody about this.
INTERNAL AFFAIRS - INFRASTRUCTURE
Arthur has been a key reformer and expander of Dunwikki infrastructure, a staunch advocate for public transportation, universities, and giant monuments to his own glory. Among his achievements were the standardization and establishment of the Dunwikki electrical and telecommunications systems, the massive expansions of the railroads, and the beginning phases of the industrialization of the north.
Arthur has left many museums and monuments to his victories across Dunwik and has had many more attributed to him. Perhaps the most striking is the Victory Over Leng monument, which, partially built with Divinian aid, displays the war from a suitably Arthurian lens, and consists of a complex of five buildings, with a central tower surrounded by four smaller ones in each cardinal direction. The space between the buildings consists of a park filled with demonstrations of the war, veterans standing in uniform, samples of army rations, and so on. Each of the four auxiliary buildings is dedicated to some aspect of the war and shows the equipment, actions, and life of those within the services: the Army, the Air Force, the Industrial Base/People, and of course, one building is left for the dead and remarkable heroes. Aircraft, guns, cans, uniforms, letters, and other memorabilia are kept in these buildings alongside detailed records on how everything was used and individual actions in the war. The Navy was intentionally snubbed. The central building provides a broad overview of the war itself, the reasons for its declaration, and contains a theater for displaying footage from the war, a lecture hall for dissemination of information related to the war or military history in general, broader geopolitical information, a gift shop, and it culminates with a grand mural on the ceiling of the whole multistory structure depicting a Dunwikki soldier in the mud reaching up, held aloft by Dunwikki workers and beyond time and in the heavens, a speculative Dunwikki astronaut and scientist reach back to their earthbound predecessors.
ECONOMICS
Arthur did not provide any major economic reform, but he did tighten some tax laws and massively increased governmental spending. While the Dunwikki government is not running a deficit anymore, it has substantially less money than it did at the start of Platt's reign, or the end of Nelson's. The economy of Dunwik has recovered from the Lengan War and is in a good position, but Arthur had caused more harm than help to the bottom line.
OVERALL PUBLIC OPINION
Public opinion is strongly pro-Arthur. His concession during the general election was at the end of a narrow race, where he was forced to give in to a coalition consisting of his two largest rivals. Even then, his popularity was so great he retained a position in the cabinet, and many who voted for Arthur still proudly display their "VOTE SMART - VOTE ARTHUR" pins and hats. Arthur's concession to House was unexpected and mourned by many, but the decision was accepted.
FAREWELL ADDRESS:
Arthur was the first to initiate a "farewell address" to the people of Dunwik. Ever the showman and orator, as soon as his term ended he strode out to the crowds and gave a speech outlining his Chairmanship and his desires. He stressed the importance of cohesion and unity during and after elections - that people, regardless of who they voted for, were still Dunwikki and must accept the results of elections if legitimate. He declared his concession a legitimate loss on his end and thanked the people of Dunwik for their belief in him. He then took his first sabbatical since 1918, and retired for a week to read literature, watch plays, play with his parrots, and sleep.
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Post by Dunwik on Aug 8, 2023 0:58:14 GMT
Preserved here is the old factbook introduction:
On the island known as Future's Promise by the men who live upon it, the great Technocratic Corporate Confederation Of Dunwik boldly strides into the world. Geographically situated in lush, tropical jungles, they have cash crops and minerals in such abundance that the land was once considered a paradise. In the northern part of their island, great mountain peaks provide a place of great mineral riches, and also isolation and contemplation if needed.
Not a traditional nationstate so much as a gigantic corporate merger, the Technocrats Of Dunwik (to use the shorthand name) are united by a single, simple creed: to build, to explore, to create, and to enact policy, law, and technology for the perfection of the Human Race. New policies, ideas, and philosophies, referred to as Hypotheses, are constantly enacted, and are either discarded as Falsehood or upheld as Theory.
Sixty years ago, the long-lived Kingdom Of Dunwik was on its last legs. Ravaged inside and out from an inefficient feudal economy, wasteful spending and bribes at all levels of governance, and a starving populace on the brink of revolt, it sounded almost like the origin story of many a socialist state. Instead, however, it was policies of favoritism, made to support old nobility trying the mechanism of capitalism, that paved the way for the downfall of the Kingdom. Slowly but surely, the corporations lobbied the King to give up more of his power in exchange for forgiving his debts, and by the time the King was powerless, he was still in debt. The crown, regalia, and titles were sold. The former were put in a museum, and the latter was discarded by the new, corporate owner of the land, the first Grand Chairman.
The Grand Chairman is elected from among the ranks of the Technocrats, the oligarchs who run the massive corporations that ensure the Technocracy continues to function, and the Grand Chairman serves 10-year terms with the potential for indefinite renewal. The heads of the thousand wealthiest corporations each vie among themselves to become Grand Chairman. They serve as many ten-year terms as election permits. The Grand Chairman handpicks his Ministers from there. While surprisingly centralized for their structure, there is quite a bit of autonomy in each corporation.
Life for the individual depends greatly on their abilities, either intellectual or physical. Those who are not able to keep up must work long hours in the great coal, copper, and iron mines that fuel the Confederation's fleets and industries. Those with intelligence and promise join the vaunted ranks of the engineers, chemists, physicists, astronomers, biologists and economists who continue the nation's accelerating drive.
The military of the Confederation is divided into two distinct branches, the Army, the Navy. Both are small, but heavily modernized, bearing the latest technology. The Navy is far better funded than the Army due to both the geography of the Technocratic Union and the Navy's continual technological drive as compared to the Army's relative stagnancy.
The Navy seems to go through an entirely new fleet every ten years, the older ships being placed on second-rate duty or sold to allies or unscrupulous others, if they are not scrapped. Their vessels are primarily defensive, but the new Grand Chairman's more expansionistic policy has resulted in a flurry of retrofits and new shipbuilding.
The Army is well modernized, but currently lacks much operational doctrine, as the Technocrats have little experience in open warfare, and are fare more comfortable crushing rebellions and native uprisings. They bear repeating rifles and camouflage uniform, but lack much knowledge on how to use them.
Both Army and Navy were quite decentralized, being owned and operated by multiple different corporations. Recent efforts have made it so they all answer directly to Miskatonic now.
The capital of Miskatonic is a thriving, tropical coastal metropolis, with a population of nearly three and a half million men toiling in the factories, offices, and docks. It is a twisted concrete jungle and many men who come from the worse parts of the cities come out scarred and weathered beyond their years.
Those men who do not perish from accidents or stress in Dunwik are rare. Everyone bears lines on their face and marks on their body, as their ideals demand toil and sacrifice.
There is no higher goal in the Technocratic Confederation than to do what was called impossible, to laugh from atop the highest peak, to sneer from the deepest chasm, to reach out and seize the world.
"Work Creates Prosperity. Prosperity Creates Freedom". This is the Invincible Creed, stamped into everything made by the Technocratic Confederation, from their mightiest warships to the smallest cogs.
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Post by Dunwik on Aug 24, 2023 20:26:05 GMT
ALAN BABITCH'S COMPENDIUM ON THE FICTION OF THE NUMEROUS NATIONS OF THE WORLD.
For those unfamiliar with me, I am Dr. Alan Babitch. The list of my accolades has veered into the ludicrously unprintable, but my name alone is accolade enough. While I am a mathematician by trade and training, it is as a novelist that I have received the most renown and it is as the novelist that I will speak to you now. For those of you wondering why a mathematician would sully himself by stooping to penning fiction, I am afraid you suffer a deficit of vision. Fictionists stand alongside scientists as those most important to the vision of Dunwik and the perfection of the human species, for the fictionist is the intermediary of progress between generations. While the journalist simplifies and categorizes the obtuse mechanisms of politics and progress, the fictionist popularizes such works and inspires the spark of learning within the youth, safeguarding the fires of intellectualism, creativity, and optimism. Without fiction, what would inspire every prodigal child to a life of learning? An enduring aphorism is that children are clay and maturation hardens them. Young minds are shaped substantially by their environs and such manipulations persist into adulthood and even senescence.
In my youth, I was the exemplar of such philosophy. My father was a fourth-generation accountant and insisted on grooming me for the role. Under his strict tutelage, I was significantly literate and numerate, but my true interests lay more in mathematics than finance. My father had endeavored to make arithmetic fun and his efforts paid off far beyond his wildest dreams. My mathematical persuasions were evident from an early date, although I of course maintained an interest in everything else I could get my hands on. But it was the primeval science fiction of my youth, men like Spencer and Hardibald, that caught my eye most: I had even compiled a few manuscripts continuing series that they had left behind. I decided at an early age that I could not bear the drudgery or danger(1) of accounting despite the lucrative nature of the profession, and at the age of fourteen set out to attain my degree in mathematics. My father was outraged at this perceived betrayal and promptly disowned me, leaving me scrambling to make my own finances. My lucky break came swiftly, for Spencer had come to celebrate the flight of the first heavier-than-air flying machine(2). I was in the area at the time and camped at his declared site a day in advance, and pounced upon my idol as soon as he arrived, overflowing with ideas on how his Skyships series could continue, and presented a manuscript with him. For an hour, the two of us conversed - as equals - and while he did not wholly approve of my work, he encouraged me, and the two of us stayed in touch.
As I was walking to the train station, the idea struck me: if I had impressed Spencer, perhaps I could sell my fiction, and pay for my tuition through that means. Between classes, I embarked on my literary adventures, published work after work, and made enough money to afford my home, degree, and sustenance. Moreover, I had made a name as an intellectual through this endeavor alone. However, while I was finishing my doctoral dissertation in mathematics, the hostilities in the Leng War renewed(3). I impressed upon the recruiters my mathematical acumen and secured a position as a computer in the 101st Artillery, and spent the war calculating firing trajectories, for which I received accolades. In my spare time, I continued my writing, both for fiction and my dissertation. While I don't smoke, I was provided a cigarette ration, and I would often barter my cigarettes for paper and would provide readings of my manuscripts for additional rations, which I later exchanged for goods such as jewelry. In this way, I made a tremendous profit from the war.
Post-war, I continued my career as a fictionist alongside my postdoctoral studies in mathematics, and both have been fruitful endeavors. However, neither pursuit of mine, neither fictionist nor mathematician, would have been possible if it wasn't for the faithful endeavors of other fictionists and mathematicians before me. So it is my duty in turn to serve as a model fictionist, mathematician, and Dunwikki for the children of the nation. All of my accolades in mathematics are owed to my father, and in fiction are owed to the tutelage of Spencer.
With this in mind, I have embarked on a systematic review of fiction from innumerable sources, ranging from various Dunwikki authors to foreign ones, for an eclectic approach often yields wondrous results due to the breadth of information attained. I hope that this compendium will be of significant use to any parent, librarian, or schoolteacher interested in the education of the youth, or any adult interested in intellectual stimulation. As a final note: I am constraining myself to literature for this review, for illustration, photography, animation, filmography, sculpture, poetry, songwriting, dance, and all other arts - while useful - would render this tome impossible to complete within a lifetime.
I hope you enjoy this work.
Warmly,
-Dr. Alan Babitch.
(1): Accounting was a business often connected to organized crime before Nelson's Monopoly of Force.
(2): The year was 1903. I graduated in 1907.
(3): To foreign readers, Dunwik and Leng have always been at war. What is erroneously referred to in foreign sources as the beginning of the Leng War in 1913 was merely a new offensive.
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DUNWIKKI LITERATURE
Dunwikki literature has been fundamentally restructured by the tenure of Grand Chairman Arthur and the Leng War, and for the betterment of the culture. Predominantly focused upon the wonders of science and technology - or failing that, the utility of rational thought, the Dunwikki intellectual milieu is a fertile one.
I am - of course - the most famous exemplar of Dunwikki science fiction, which has strayed predominantly into sociological narratives quite like my own Foundation. However, those seeking to defy my example have provided more individualistic accounts, stories focused on the day-to-day of existing within a futuristic or idealized society. The highest form of Dunwikki science fiction is the sociological conflict narrative, which depicts the battle and evolution of nations over a longer period of time. A common pitfall within Dunwikki science fiction is a lack of engaging conflict: it becomes so aspirational that it loses something of the suspense or conflict of primordial genres. This is either through a utopia being the premise of the work outright or the supremacy of the technologically or ideologically superior faction. The rectification of this deficiency is slow but sure, as I have campaigned relentlessly to ensure this is amended.
Science fiction is the elevation of either a new and promising form of technology, or the imagination of some as-of-yet uncreated marvel of engineering, and placing that as the focus of the narrative. People are ancillary to science fiction, science is the protagonist. The proper demonstration of the scientific method as a force or character is the hallmark of science fiction, just as much as the exploration of possibility is a hallmark. While my thoughts on science fiction can - and have - filled entire essays, I will leave with the remark that there is no better mechanism for inspiring future scientists than science fiction, and that alone makes Dunwikki science fiction the most laudable of all genres.
The next most prominent form of Dunwikki literature is the criminological tale. These are conventionally broken down into the Detective and Heist subgenres.
Detectives follow detectives, although, in this epoch, every newly-written detective has some other profession that is intended to give him a dramatic or unique flair. A ghastly crime is orchestrated and the detective arrives upon the scene to investigate. Clues are provided, and the detection makes his deductions from the evidence provided and faces down the perpetrator. Whether his deductions are correct is often in the balance and depends upon the author, giving necessary tension. However, many of these tales have the detective as nigh-infallible, and so the work is more of a puzzle, encouraging the reader to follow along and try to crack the case themselves. A poor detective novelist will have the detective use information unavailable to the reader to make his conclusions.
Heists follow criminals, and this is the detective story in reverse. The heist is a puzzle on the criminological side, whereupon some extremely valuable and guarded bauble is presented, the aspiring thieves form their plot to seize the item, and then their plan either comes to fruition, or they perish. Of all the forms of Dunwikki literature, this is often the most rife with conflict, both within the heisting faction and between the thieves and any forms of security that may arise within the work. While some have denounced these tales as inspiring a criminal attitude within the youth, I see it more as the application of a scientific process.
A particularly interesting violation of this categorization is Roul's Thesser series, which alternates between both perspectives. The criminals will form a plan and orchestrate their heist, and then the detective, Thesser, appears after the deed has been done. Typically, he struggles to piece together all of the evidence, for the thieves have meticulous schemes in place to evade him, and it becomes a battle of wits, with the reader privy to only half of each faction's plans at any given time.
Third is the emerging branch known as the hero story but - as evidenced by the extremely short descriptions I give - I cannot provide a reasonably in-depth explanation for this. I have deeper analyses of all these works within the archives of my magazines and this will be provided on request. Hero stories often follow the thoughts and deeds of some exemplar of a given virtue, however they are much rarer in literature and have made their appearance more in pulp comic novels. Usually, they are also swathed in either a science-fiction or criminological bent. The most popular example at the time of writing is Batman, following the story of Gambor Wright, the son of billionaires cruelly murdered by rampaging thieves of low genetic character. Having taken up an oath to exterminate all wrongdoers from the realm, his stories are of moderate intellectualism, but spectacular showmanship. I sometimes wonder if the hero story, otherwise known as the aspirational, isn't too weighted towards violence and the barbaric but Batman usually outwits his foes, rather than outmuscles them, and only deploys force when he has already won.
This is not even the surface of Dunwikki literature, but the war stories often fall into either criminological or pseudo-sociological bents, if they are not outright hero stories, and most other genres are of such little importance that I feel safe in discounting them for now.
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